Chapter 441 - 385: I: Night and the Milky Way

Chapter 441: Chapter 385: I: Night and the Milky Way

I’ve never been modest.

In the glitzy world of fame, humility is the doormat at the entrance. A symbolic wipe of the feet before you go in is all that’s required.

It’s useless in the cutthroat battles that follow.

I’ve never been modest, though I’ve always secretly wondered: why did one song make me famous?

Music is my refuge, my sanctuary. It is also my accomplice, the spear I wield to pierce human hearts.

My fans say I must be the world’s greatest sadist.

I use music to sting and torment, to crumple and knead their souls. They say that after listening, no amount of smoothing can ever return their souls to a pristine, blank slate.

It creates grooves where shadows and dust can settle.

...It’s baffling that the market likes me at all. Even though I haven’t received an undue amount of attention for a newcomer, I’m still puzzled.

During one interview, I was blunt. "Has the market’s taste suddenly improved? Or is liking me while also liking all that pop trash some sort of retaliation against my music?"

I was just about to list a few famous singers as examples—the first name hadn’t even left my lips when my agent gave me a hard shove on the shoulder, and I nearly bit my tongue.

I don’t know if it’s my music or my personality, but the people who hate me seem to multiply like drug-resistant cockroaches. Overnight, they swarm by the hundreds, by the thousands—a teeming, unoriginal mass of identical faces.

"Never heard a musician so full of themselves." "It just sounds like a chaotic mess." "These songs are so depressing. Doesn’t it make you feel awful listening to them?" "I don’t get it. People who like her must just be following the trend." ...

Some even write lengthy critiques expressing their hatred, but their loathing is just as banal as everything else about them, and they’re completely oblivious to it.

’Leaving comments like that is like putting themselves on display, turning themselves into shallow puddles I can see to the bottom of with a single glance.’

The only criticism with a shred of originality, the only one that made me look twice, popped up recently. The things they were saying were certainly... new. "She is the Sound of the Demon of the end times! No God-fearing person should tolerate her existence! She is a harbinger of the Antichrist, an enemy to all of us Evangelicals!"

’Who knew I had that kind of power? Give me a break. You’re the ones who voted rapists into the White House.’

As you’d expect, my agent completely lost it when I said that in public.

"You get a tiny taste of fame and suddenly you’re a diva. You’re not even a big name yet, but you sure act like one! When other people act like maniacs, it’s because they’re male superstars who’ve been famous for ages. You think you can just say whatever you want and get the same special treatment? You’re not big enough to get famous off of controversy!"

She strictly forbade me from speaking out of turn again. All interviews, all TV appearances—I was to stick to the script, period.

I had no choice but to comply. I have a lot of fans, but their appreciation is a quiet thing; it doesn’t have the hard edge of aggression. So the voices defending me were few and far between. All I could do was try my best to stay in line.

There was only one time I didn’t stick to the script.

I was a guest on a late-night talk show, and the host asked me what my professional goals were for the coming year.

My agent’s prepared answers were pure fluff, the kind of bland, boiled-water statements that mean nothing. I couldn’t stand the thought of my music—of me—being watered down like that.

"I want to hold an open-air concert," I blurted out on a whim. "In the sky." ’It’s not like that’s a controversial thing to say,’ I thought. ’It should be fine.’

"The sky?" the host asked.

"That’s right. I’ve loved heights since I was a kid. I’ve done my share of extreme sports, like bungee jumping and skydiving," I said with a laugh. "You know those videos online of people walking along the ledge of a skyscraper? I’ve done that. The highest I ever went was the twenty-fifth floor. I scaled the outer wall, clinging to window ledges for three minutes."

I told him I wanted to rig tightropes between the skyscrapers in the busiest commercial district. I want to leap from a rooftop and dive into the neon-drenched night of Blackmoor City.

As millions look up and cheer, I’ll be caught in mid-air, suspended.

I’ll move between the buildings, soaring over the heads of the crowd below, my music blasting from every street-corner speaker, making the glittering night sky of Blackmoor City tremble.

"That’s quite an ambition!" the host said with a polite laugh. "I hope you pull it off. I’ll definitely be there if you do."

I laughed too. "My label doesn’t even know about this plan. This is the first time I’ve said it out loud. I have no idea if it’s even possible."

"...You can’t."

Those two words didn’t come from my agent or my record label.

They came from Mercury.

To be honest, when I saw the incoming call, for a second I couldn’t even place who Mercury was. I answered, and before I could even say hello, she spoke, her voice almost placid. "The concert in the sky. You can’t do it."

"You watched the show?" I was surprised and a little confused. "Why not?"

"Not for the next two years, at least. Or maybe in a few years," she said, sounding hesitant. "I’ll check again then."

’Check what? It’s not like I’m asking you for money or manpower.’

"I’m not famous enough to pull that off yet, anyway," I said. "I’m just doing a small solo show for now."

I couldn’t see Mercury, but I could hear the sudden tension in her voice over the phone. "A solo show? When?"

"End of the year," I said, taking off my makeup. "We’re still in the planning stages."

"In Blackmoor City?"

"No, it’s in some backwater town in the south," I laughed. "Of course it’s in Blackmoor City! Where else would have me, the ’Sound of the Demon of the end times’?"

She didn’t laugh. She thought for a moment, then said, "I need to see you."

’I knew it wasn’t the polite, empty "I miss you, we should grab dinner sometime" kind of line. Her tone was practically a command—no, it was more like she was informing me of my own schedule.’

"...Why?" I asked in a small voice.

"Because your next node of fate is ’the concert.’"

The moment a Siren opens her mouth, all I can do is drift helplessly toward her.

When I saw Mercury again, she had two new tattoos on her neck: names. I was about to remark that the habit of tattooing a new lover’s name on yourself gets pretty ridiculous after a few relationships, but then I noticed one of them was a woman’s name.

’...She’s bisexual?’

For some reason, I suddenly felt flustered.

"Um," I couldn’t help saying, gesturing to my own neck. "You know, they have lasers to remove tattoos. You don’t have to keep adding more..."

Mercury acted as if she hadn’t heard a thing.

"Your first concert is also the first major turning point of your career. It could be your springboard," she said, staring into her drink. "But if you hold it this year, it will be the end of your career."

"Say one more ugly thing like that and I’m leaving."

Mercury looked helpless. She let out a rare sigh. "You think I like saying this?"

"Then why say it?"

I was starting to get pissed. My agent says I’m a pro at pulling the diva card, but really I’ve just learned to be direct. "What singer’s career ends because they hold a concert? What are you basing this on?"

"I don’t know," Mercury said, her brow furrowed. "I wasn’t able to find out."

"Who did you ask? Don’t tell me it’s more of that ’Nest’ and ’residents’ stuff. If I told my label I couldn’t work because of some ’Nest,’ they’d have me committed."

Mercury stared at me for several long seconds.

She wasn’t like anyone I’d ever met. Her aura... it was dense and dim, like a gray-white tombstone standing in the dead of night.

Only later would I realize just how accurate that intuitive metaphor was.

Mercury slowly stood, rounded the table, and stopped in front of me. We were in the corner of a small bistro, which was cast in lonely, dim light. I wasn’t famous enough to be recognized everywhere I went yet.

She bent down, her shadow obscuring my vision.

"Don’t move," she whispered, as if sensing my urge to pull away.

She stared into my eyes, as if the heavens were about to fall, as if she herself were about to fall into me.

I’d never felt fear like this, not even when walking the ledge of a skyscraper.

’If someone woke me now, I would sink to the bottom of the sea, never to see daylight again.’

"What... what are you doing?"

"I wanted to see if your shroud was still there," Mercury said, grabbing her backpack, a sudden urgency in her movements. "I’m leaving. I’ll be in touch."

’Wait, what the hell? She just spouts some incomprehensible nonsense, doesn’t explain a thing, and just leaves?’

"So is the shroud there or not?" I yelled at her retreating back.

Mercury stopped and glanced back at me.

She stood there amidst the dim shadows, just as I am standing now in this dark river.

"...It’s all gone," she said, looking completely lost. No, more than that, she looked heartbroken. "There’s nothing left. I’m sorry. I’ll figure something out."

’Isn’t that a good thing? The shroud was what was keeping me from getting famous, right? So don’t figure something out!’

Before I could get the words out, she turned and was gone.

After that, I didn’t hear from Mercury for a long time.

To be honest, though, it’s not like I tried to contact her either. I was just too busy. My new album was selling so well I was half-convinced it was some kind of conspiracy. I was getting invited to events everywhere. Watching the streaming numbers climb, it felt less like I wanted to do a concert and more like the world was begging me for one.

The first show, a small one just to test the waters, sold out in a single day. The label immediately decided to add a few more dates—and after that first night, the venue would upgrade from a small concert hall to a massive stadium. Then, everything would be different.

When I walked out of that concert hall, I’d be on my way to becoming an A-list star.

I would finally ascend into the night sky and take my place among the glittering stars of the galaxy.

...That was the plan, anyway.

I’m curled into a tight ball, crouched behind a piece of stage scenery. I’m shaking violently, teeth chattering. I’ve bitten my lip raw without even realizing it, not until I see the blood on my own arm and almost scream.

’...If they find me, it’s all over.’

Not far from me, a backup dancer in a silver-white costume lies like a single, fragile leaf, floating in a deep pool of his own blood.

Screams, crying, pleading, the sounds of people running for their lives, the smell of blood, the haze of smoke...

And the gunshots, one after another, never-ending.

For a long moment, I’m in a daze. I think this is all a hallucination, a nightmare. ’When I open my eyes, I’ll go get ready for my show.’

’Please, wake me up. I don’t want to drown here. Please.’

’I still have so many dreams, so many songs left to sing.’

I squeezed my eyes shut, then forced them open again.

The corpse is still there.

A scream from the audience is cut short by a gunshot.

"...You’re all going to die," a man is screaming, his voice ragged with madness. "If you don’t find her, you’re all going to die! The fans of the Sound of the Demon don’t deserve to live!"

I only got a distant glimpse of the man when he first burst in and opened fire.

I couldn’t make out his face, only the weapons and ammo clips strapped to his body. Even with my nonexistent knowledge of firearms, I could tell it was military-grade gear.

But here, anyone with enough money can buy them. Anyone who wants to kill me, can.

"On the stage!" some voice from the crowd—a voice that had been applauding me moments ago—screams, torn apart by terror. "Please, spare us! I saw her run onto the stage—"

Amidst the thunder of fleeing footsteps, a single set of heavy strides is rushing toward the stage.

If I could cry, I’m sure I would be.

But I can’t.

’If this is the last moment of my life, then let me sing. Here in my concert hall, at my own show, to the dead and the empty space.’

’When the last note fades, I will rise into the sky and merge with the galaxy.’